The Devil knocked me out with six bourbon shots. My innards started boiling in a bonbon pot. My body swells from side to side. Luscious liquorice, sugar-coated rats and marshmallow pitchforks orbit my ears.
Why don’t you just climb out? you ask. Don’t shed no tears.
The lid’s too heavy; I can’t touch the bottom with my feet.
Drill a hole in the wall or bite off the lid—it’s made out of meat.
Yes. You’re right. Sound advice, indeed. I’m melting in this terrible heat.
Look! The cover’s opening: chocolate and fruit rains down on my aching head. The Devil glares inside, “May your teeth rot in my stew. I want everything soft, down to the last sinew.”
His voice chokes me with dread.
I don’t know how this tale will end, only how it began. A pub and its persuasions stole my senses and ran. I marooned a girl, retired a salty life, and abandoned sour work.
I’m a cedilla in the alphabet, a bubbling wake in an oozing soup. I could chomp my way out and sprint across the deep gorges of hell. But I’d only pursue another Candy Bell.
Daniel Lind is a Swedish teacher currently living with his family in London. He’s had flash fiction published in Flash Fiction Magazine.